The Coconut Chronicles: Friends

The Big Two-Oh!

Tue, 28 Aug 2007 02:33:20 GMT

Hello from the Past!

Surreal. If there is one word I can use to best describe my 20year high school reunion, I would choose “surreal”. I’m writing this in the Surrey passport office, another surreal experience…but more about that later.

I’ll confess, I was nervous. I’ve kept in touch with only a handful of friends from high school, and even those people I’ve not seen nor spoken to in ten years or more. A few emails have been exchanged, averaging ten lines apiece, but that’s about it. 200 hundred or so folks from my 700-plus graduating class were scheduled to attend the big event but which 200? Would I even know anyone? Would I spend the evening in my fancy dress and strappy shoes circling the buffet table like a hungry barracuda, desperate and alone?

After two blissful-yet-short days at Casa Roney in Port Coquitlam, Prez and I trekked over to the Coast Hotel in Langley; the reunion would be in the casino next door. We took advantage of the quiet time, (and the king bed….wink, wink), by ordering vastly overpriced room service food and watching pay-per-view movies – a luxury we only allow ourselves about once per year. It was good to see that our knack for creating apocalyptic-type messes in hotel rooms is still alive and well.

The first reunion dilemma is, of course, what to wear. This isn’t usually an issue with me. I’m not the type who calls a friend with the familiar question, “What are you wearing?”, my attitude being I’m going to wear whatever I darn well want. But this event seemed to drag to the surface all of those teenage social insecurities. When it was time to pack for the trip, I still hadn’t decided how dressy, or not, I wanted to be for the reunion. I wanted to look good, but not like I was showing off, and there was always dancing to consider. Arrgh! My solution? Over-packing. I just brought every outfit I might conceivably want to wear, much to Prez’s chagrin. Friday night at the Roney’s was a pre-reunion fashion show of sorts with me modeling all of the potential candidates. “Too dressy. Too plain. That one makes your breasts look nice but it bunches at the hips. Ooooo, that one’s nice. Nope, no slacks, you must wear a dress.” Those were just a few of the comments from my personal style panel.

So with my outfit choices narrowed to two, and my belly bursting with the $14 prime rib burger I’d snarfed back while watching Spiderman 3, I was ready for a little nappy-poo to compensate for the late-night, drinking, laughing, Contract Rummy evening with Martha & Patty-Cakes. Sure. As if the butterflies in my stomach were going to let me sleep.

Finally 7pm arrived. I was bathed, fragranced, made-up, coiffed, and tucked into outfit choice #1 – the blue, sparkly, cocktail number. Prez had on one of his nicest Hawaiian shirts. And off we went!

There was a crowd of near-forty-year-olds clustered outside the Red Robinson Theater, all surreptitiously glancing from face to face…this must be it. (Note: The sucky thing about grad reunions is it is very difficult to lie about your age). “See anyone you know yet?” Prez asked. No, I didn’t, and my worst fears seemed about to come true until…

“Hey! Kris!” A call came from the far end of the line. I saw a man. It was…um…hold on…oh yes, now I know! It was Kurt, one of my very dearest friends from ‘back in the day’, (as they say). WHEW! All my butterflies buggered off, (probably to go play blackjack), as the hugs and introductions began.

Face after familiar face appeared, it was actually quite cool. I was happy, though, when we all finally had name tags, despite the fact that we spent the evening staring at each other’s chests. (Note to the 25^th reunion grad committee: use bigger print; a 48 point font would be good for our aging eyes!). Mike S. had a new (and lovely) wife; Kurt was still with Karen (lucky guy) but now has three ankle-biters; Leanne K. was pregnant and Vanessa S. was very, very pregnant; Kristin V still had that Audrey Hepburn thing going on; Tanya S. made me laugh just as hard as she always did; Pat L. continues to live the acting-singing-dancing dream (the one I once thought was my dream); Darren M. looked dapper; etc. etc. So many old faces, old memories.

Now, these events are not so exciting for the spouses. Prez’s name tag didn’t even have his name on it. For that evening he was known as “Guest of…” I made it very clear to him I would not be offended if he wanted to sneak away and play some poker or something. In turn, he made it very clear to me that I was not to worry about him at all for the entire evening, (isn’t he the best?). And, every time I glanced over at our table I saw he was busy talking the ears off of the other Guest of’s. I noticed a few other Guest of’s who were not so lucky, they were easy to spot, sitting alone, with a ‘for the love of god, please shoot me’ look on their face. (Note: If you have a spouse or significant other who isn’t skilled at striking up 3 hour long conversations with complete strangers, don’t bring them to your reunion!)

All in all, the event was well put together; no easy feat, I am sure. The food was yummy though I ate very little, preferring my nourishment on the rocks, with a twist. (Mmmmmm, except for the chocolate fountain…must get chocolate fountain!) I think I would have put out bowls of throat lozenges, though, as the talk was almost non-stop, and once the DJ started we were all shouting to be heard.

There were four of us there that evening who have known each other since kindergarten, which was really neat. We speculated on old classmate’s whereabouts and lamented the decline of our old neighbourhood which has sunk from suburban-quaint to near-slum level.

According to several of my old school chums, I was much cooler in high school than I ever thought I was. Always nice to hear. My favorite comment of the evening came from Pat L., “Honey, you were chic before any of us knew what chic was!” I think I’ll pay him to follow me around for the rest of my life.

What struck me most, however, was the sense of, in the big picture, how temporary things are. The old battle lines were gone. And why were they even there to begin with? I wasn’t in a room full of Jocks, Nerds, Rockers, Punks, New Wavers, Preppies, Stoners, and Wannabes; I was in a room full of people…just people. All the stuff we thought was so critical back then has been swept away over twenty years of trying to survive the “real world”. We’ve been through marriage, divorce, death, children, university, poverty, riches, successful careers, failed careers, war, booms, busts, finding faith, losing faith, and the never-ending quest to figure out “Who am I?” And while I’m sure not everyone in that room is living happily ever after, there was a tangible sense of peace, of acceptance. There wasn’t a person at the reunion I wasn’t happy to see; if only our school years could have been the same.

Ah, if only the passport process could be that happy.

But I digress, as usual.

Anyway, the night was fun. Prez and I ducked out late in the evening. My voice was going, my feet hurt, and my ears couldn’t take any more of that loud rock and roll music! (I’m kidding about that last part, just preparing myself for seniorhood). We are now at the Kozak Mansion where we shall be stuffed full of food, each dish containing no less than 47 ingredients, while we watch “AbFab” episodes on the giant, Hi-def screen of Tweeter’s home theater. Yep, life’s pretty good.

Except for the whole passport thing.

Yes, it’s time for yet another venture into the world of bureaucracy! Thanks to our good buddy George Dubya insisting that us wiley Canucks now have passports when we cross the border to go buy our cheap milk and cigarettes, the usual long line ups at the passport office have mushroomed and now resemble the old bread line-ups of communist Russia. Friday we showed up around 9:30 am to find the line outside the building, snaked around the corner!!! We stood there for about 4.7 seconds before we said, “Forget this!” and decided to come back Monday first thing.

Today, just before 7am, we were ready with our fold out chairs, Tim Horton’s coffee, and various entertainment items. There was already a substantial line up when we arrived! Two and a half hours later, we were done. Prez likes to rant and rave about the government, the bureaucracy, the inefficiency and, yes, it burns my toast, too, but I’m a little more philosophical about the whole deal.

Think of the world as a big high school, because that’s how we behave. Some countries are bullies, some are nerds, some just keep their heads down and hope no one notices them. We’re all squabbling and fighting over things we think are really important and missing the big picture. I hope one day we all grow up. I hope there’s some sort of “world reunion” where we can all see one another, not as Canadians, Americans, Iraqis, Mexicans, French, English, Muslims, Christians, etc., but as people…just people. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful event?

Hmmm, but what would I wear?

QUESTION: How was your reunion?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy, & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Would You Be, Could You Be, Won't You Be...My Neighbour!

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 20:43:19 GMT

Hello again from Mountain Mecca & Hippie Heaven!

“Hot town, summer in the city…” takes on a whole new meaning when you are surrounded by wilderness at the height of forest fire season. The majority of the forest fires burning in BC are in the vicinity of Nelson. The first visible one was at Six Mile Creek, just north of us – the top of the mountain glowed so orange, and spewed so much smoke, you’d think it was a volcano erupting! A constant stream of helicopters and water bombers fly by us daily, and a few days ago a Mars water bomber arrived. If you’ve never seen one of these magnificent machines, have a look here. They are HUGE – they can pick up 7200 gallons of water in 25 to 30 seconds at speeds of 60 to70 miles per hour - and yet they seem so slow and cumbersome you expect them to fall out of the sky at any moment.

You gotta love small towns because any big event, even the arrival of a water bomber, is cause for conversation and speculation. When the Mars bomber started circling closer to the lake, we ran outside to the deck to get a better view, only to discover our neighbours had the same idea. We waved and called comments back and forth to Dickie, and the Ripsters, and eventually we all converged to discuss the new arrival. A few nights after that, we all met again to go “skunk hunting” under our front deck. It seems the little stinker has returned but a good dousing with the hose and a couple of (mostly harmless) bb pellets seem to have sent him on his way.

So, I’ve been thinking about neighbours. Prez and I seem to have almost too-good-to-be-true neighbour karma, no exaggeration. When I first met Prez, he lived in quiet cul-de-sac in Port Coquitlam, (a suburb of Vancouver). What a great neighbourhood! Everyone knew each other and looked out for one another. Kids abounded, and though we were child-free our status as stunt people with lots of toys made us interesting to the mob of ankle-biters. Our neighbours to our right were none other than the infamous Pat & Joyce Roney aka: Martha & Patty-Cakes.

Now, you probably couldn’t find two more diametrically opposed families than us and the Roneys. Pat & Joyce have two kids and are very family oriented; their roots are strong and deep in the community (they’ve lived in the same house for over 20 years); and their yard could grace the cover of Better Homes and Gardens, (our yard might’ve qualified for the “what not to do” section of that magazine). Yet, despite the obvious differences, the Roneys quickly became two of our dearest friends in the entire world. The day we pulled out of that cul-de-sac, with our bathrobe-clad neighbours waving goodbye in the rearview mirror was one of the most heart breaking days of my life.

Of course, we were soon back, this time not as neighbours but as house guests living in the basement suite!

One of the unexpected consequences of our crazy lifestyle is that we often find ourselves temporarily bunking with friends between adventures. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve lived with the Roneys now, but every time has been an incredible gift as far as I’m concerned. For some reason, the four of us seem to gel – no easy feat when you have four adults, three cats (one who hates everyone), and one young-adult male, all on different time schedules, and all with different lifestyles, under one roof for extended periods of time.

It probably works so well because Pat & Joyce are so damn easy-going and generous, but who knows? What I do know is that we have had some great times sharing meals, watching movies, playing cards into the wee hours, and just generally “hanging out”, which we never would have experienced if we weren’t homeless now and then.

Our next neighbourly stroke of luck was when we moved next door to Mom II & HQ – Ruth-Ann & Harry Quarles - in Baja, Mexico. Ruth-Ann loves to tell the story of how she first met Prez when he was shopping for a piece of property, and how annoyed she was to have to show yet another looky-loo around while she was trying to get her fireplace painted. The annoying young man in his fancy rented jeep became her next door neighbour, and ten years later the Quarles are like family to us.

I suspect Ruth-Ann saw us more as guests in her extended hotel than as neighbours because it wasn’t unusual to come back from a day of fishing to find our laundry done and folded, dinner waiting, and other little chores taken care of. Some days I half-expected to find our sheets turned down and a mint on our pillow, that’s how well we were cared for as neighbours.

We’ve also bunked with the Quarles on a few occasions…just this past winter actually. Again, different kinds of people, different ages, different lifestyles, but we made it work.

Our move from the Quarles was not far, just down the beach, and though it was still sad we began to see our strange lucky-streak with neighbours was not over. Enter Big Wave Dave & Miz Liz – Dave & Liz Meyers of 30^th Palm fame.

Our neighbour experience with the Meyers was probably the most natural, most comfortable one we’ve had. We didn’t become friends, we just were friends from minute one. It was as if we’d known each other our entire lives. Eating breakfast with the Meyer’s “bad dogs”, Chase & Cassie, running in and out of our doors, was not an unusual scenario. We all had a very open-door policy between our homes. The Mexican expression, Mi casa es su casa, (my home is your home), held very true with us. I’m sure, back then, they couldn’t have guessed just how true.

We’ve called the 30^th Palm “home” twice, once while Dave was still with us, and once after his passing. If you think living with other people is a challenge, try doing it in a little grass shack with no sound-proofing! But we had no problems, and our time together in the 30^th Palm was time I’ll cherish always. We’ve also been roomies with Miz Liz and the bad dogs in 29 Palms, California. On the first occasion, Miz Liz and I stood arm in arm watching a fiery desert sunrise (OK, we didn’t stay that way for very long because fiery desert sunrises come far, far too early for Princesses, but it was a lovely moment nonetheless). On the last occasion, she played nurse to Prez and I who were both stricken with that nasty, funk-inducing flu. I can’t think of a nicer place to be sick!

Our gypsy existence has thrown us together with friends we’d never expect, too. Iron Chef Kozy and Techie-Tweeter - Paul & Wendy Kozak – had never been our neighbours, and though we were friends, we didn’t get to see much of each other most of the time. But that all changed when they offered up the empty basement wing of the Kozak mansion while we were starting up our handyman business.

In our short time in Key Largo, Florida, we partied with all our neighbours, some we still stay in contact with – Prez was a very bad influence on one of our neighbours who skipped work 3 times to go fishing with my bad husband! And then we bunked with the Baneys who’d been guests at the resort we ran in the Bahamas, and they forced us to eat stone crab legs and swim in their pool. Oh, the sacrifices we make!

While I hate feeling as if we’re taking advantage of friend’s hospitality, I’m so thankful life created an opportunity for us to get to know the Kozaks better. Believe me; we uncovered some very deep secrets while we stayed at the mansion. For example, Kozy likes to play Mr. Penny Pincher to the rest of the world – scanning flyers for sales, bargaining at the Jiffy Lube - but what I found out is that he is, in reality, one of the most generous, caring people you’ll ever know. We offered to pay rent and a share of utilities during our long stay but Kozy wouldn’t hear of it, and he even fed us, more than once, five-star gourmet! And Wendy, oh you’d meet her and think she is just the quietest, sweetest woman on the planet…ha! Don’t let that “angel face” fool you! The real Wendy is witty, clever, and has a devilish sense of humour. She had me cracking up endlessly. Well, anyone who has every episode of AbFab on DVD is someone who understands good comedy! And she also happens to be just as generous and caring as her husband; not bad.

And now we claim the Ripsters – Tim & Becky Rippel – as neighbours. They aren’t right next door, but they’re one door over and the house between us is Dickie’s, who’s also a friend, so we have it pretty damn good. We are back and forth between our houses on a regular basis, having dinners, watching movies, or just chatting about the news of the day – a Mars water bomber, for instance. Again, I’m so incredibly grateful life gave us a chance to spend time with such amazing friends; time we wouldn’t have under normal circumstances.

I’ve said before that Prez and I may not be financially rich but we invested in friends and the pay offs are well worth it, and I think that’s worth repeating.

It’s easy to get swept up in the logistics of life. We’re tired at the end of the day and there always seems to be some chore that needs doing, so sacrificing time with friends becomes a necessity. And then it becomes a way of life. Even when we get to spend time with the people we love, it’s limited and we have to get back home and: water the lawn, buy groceries, take the kids to soccer, finish the laundry, walk the dog, go to the gym, shop at the mall, call Mom, fix that squeaky door, send emails, watch the next episode of that show we love, get paperwork done, etc. etc. etc. The beauty of neighbours (or, as is often our case, roommates) is that they’re right there, right beside you. Visiting neighbours doesn’t have to be a momentous, planned event involving calendars and schedules, nope; you can just pop over and say “hi, got time for a coffee?” Simple.

I think as we become “compacted”, as cities start funneling more people into smaller spaces, our privacy starts to become critical. We shut out the people around us as a way to protect ourselves and we begin to lose the feeling of community we once considered so valuable. I remember telling some co-workers who were city-dwellers about how the Roneys helped us out when we’d go down to Baja by taking in our mail, paying our bills, depositing our cheques, etc., and they were absolutely horrified that we’d let mere “neighbours” have so much access to our lives. “I don’t even know my next door neighbour and I don’t want to know them!” one person said. They completely missed the point; we couldn’t live the way we do if we didn’t have such incredible neighbours and friends.

I know not everyone can live the way we do…or even wants to for that matter. But we can choose to know our neighbours. Hell, many of us can even choose to live close to people we know, or in neighbourhoods where people are friendly. And maybe your next door neighbour is just a friend you haven’t met yet.

To all our neighbours, and roommates, who are also our friends, a million thank you’s for being so close…even when we’re miles apart!

QUESTION: Who are the people in your neighbourhood?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

A Farewell to Cott

Mon, 07 Aug 2006 23:36:19 GMT

Hello again from a sad yet Kozy place,

Tomorrow at 2 pm I will be attending a funeral. Kozy’s mom, lovingly nicknamed “Cott”, died suddenly (and unexpectedly) of a heart attack this week. I didn’t know Cott, in fact I only met her once, but I know that Kozy loved her and that she raised a hell of a good son. My heart aches for Kozy & Tweeter; the loss of a parent, expected or otherwise, is one of those profound moments where your life becomes altered forever.

The hardest part of my own mother’s death was seeing all around me that people were going on about their usual business. Didn’t they know the universe had just come to a grinding halt? How could they laugh over coffee or sing in their cars when my mom was gone? We’ve all heard the expression “life goes on”, well it did. And it does. Even when we want it to stop, when the pain of waking up and going to work and sleep walking through the routines of our lives seems unbearable, life goes on.

We don’t think much about death, especially our own. We know it’s inevitable, unavoidable, a natural part of life, so to speak, but we rarely let the idea that one day this will all end pass through our brain. My Dad is in his seventies, he has diabetes, I wouldn’t describe his health as optimum but as far as I’m concerned he’s going to live forever. I can’t picture a world without my dad in it – so I don’t. Isn’t that silly?

I think that’s why religion and mysticism are so powerful; it takes away the finality of death. Sure you die BUT you get to a) go to a better place b) come back as something/someone else c) move on to a higher plane of existence d) all of the above. Not being religious or ascribing to any belief system, you might feel sorry for me not having something to look forward to when my life is over. Don’t. I like the uncertainty. I like accepting that life, all by it’s little self is miraculous enough without explanation. Maybe I will go to heaven (well, probably hell, Prez and I will be the ones jet skiing the lava flows) or maybe I’ll come back as a cat (please let me have some sucker like me as an owner!) or maybe that will be that. The curtains come down, the lights go out, my show is over.

Who knows? Not me, not you, not even the pope in Rome. We might believe, but no one knows.

Having spouted all that tough talk, I must confess, I’m not good with funerals. I find myself making jokes or going over my grocery list in my head, anything to not deal with what’s in front of me. It’s not that I don’t feel grief or sadness, I feel them deeply, I just hate expressing them publicly. I couldn’t even cry at my mom’s funeral. I wanted to. I told myself it was OK, that people expected it, that it was normal and healthy but on the day, the pipes sealed shut and there I was again, in the middle of this surreal experience, trying to fool myself into believing it wasn’t happening. Then I went home and cried until I thought I was going to throw up.

That was ten years ago. I’m a little bit better with the funeral thing now.

After 9-11 I went into a weird sort of trauma state for months (as long as I was on my own). I’d be driving to work and all of a sudden I’d let my mind slip, start thinking of all those poor people in the towers and that was it. Sometimes I’d have to pull over I was crying so hard. But it was good, healing I think, in a way. I developed a larger sense of empathy and let go of a lot of stuff I had bottled up. But I still find it hard to cry in front of people.

I may not cry at the funeral tomorrow, so I’ll do it now while I’m writing this and wishing that my friend didn’t have to go through this. Wishing that I had a magic wand to wave away sorrow or at least an answer to the question of what happens to us when we die. I have neither and I feel small and helpless. The best I can offer is a kind of pilgrimage: that I will live my life to the fullest and love as deeply as I can.

Maybe that’s the best any of us can do.

What do you do with your sadness?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy and lovin’ life.

Dedicated to “Cott” Kozak

The Princess

"Should Old Acquaintance be Forgot"

Sat, 31 Dec 2005 20:38:35 GMT

Hello from the end of the year.

The new year is upon us, time to take stock of the past and prepare for the future. How will I remember this year? A year of uncertainty? A year of adventure? Only time will tell but I know when I think of 2005, as always, it will be the people I love who will stand out most.

I have been negligent. Usually I make a point of expressing my gratitude for folks who have helped us or have shared something special with us, but this year I overlooked some very, very important people and I am feeling pretty down about it.

Pat and Joyce Roney started as our next door neighbours but quickly became two of our very best friends.

Over the years they have gone above and way beyond the call of duty when it came to doing favours for us. When we had our beach house, the original ClubFred, in Baja and would disappear for months at a time, they would take in our mail, deposit our cheques, pay our bills and respond to any number of minor emergencies on our behalf. There are very few people in this world you can depend on to that extreme.

You can count on the Roneys for just about anything - especially for livening up a party!

When we decided that Ukee (rain) was not going to work for us, and needed a place to hang our hat (and all of our other many possessions) while we waited for our Cayman job interview, they were quick to offer us a comfy place to stay for as long as we needed. Now, I've made jokes, referring to the Prez and I as "the people under the stairs" and maybe you've gotten the impression that we lived in some sort of bat cave while we were there...no...not true...it was just a joke folks. Our basement suite included ample room for us, the fat cat, and all our stuff as well as a giant cozy couch, TV, DVD, VCR and blazing fireplace. We had our own bathroom and we were welcome in any part of the house at any time. We had a pretty sweet deal my friends. I would reccomend Casa Roney to anyone, anytime.

The really great part, actually quite rare, miraculous even, was that we all got along, really, really well the whole time. It was what you always imagined having roomates would be like until you moved out and actually realized how many wackos there are out there. But seriously, cohabitating, even with your closest and dearest friends, can be a complete disaster. There are people I love that I can't imagine spending twenty-four consecutive hours with in a small space, never mind two months! The fact that the four of us (technically five but 18 year old Roney is rarely home as you can imagine) lived together, ate together, and hung out together for so long happily, without wanting to wring one another's necks is a real feat.

To cap off our stay, these crazy cats took us out for a farewell dinner at Milestones (yum) where I sampled the "Bikini Martini" as part of my martini quality control program that I have started for restaurants all over the globe (they don't pay me and actually don't even want my advice but I have big dreams). So far, the Roneys have been present at every one of our many farewell parties (I notice the turn out gets a little smaller every time - I guess you can only say farewell so many times before it gets old).

Vegas may not have been so kind to us but who cares? We already hit the jackpot when we met the Roneys.

This is a Chronicle I should have written a long time ago. I have no excuse except, perhaps, that I am a big, fat, dumb head who doesn't deserve such incredible friends - ya that sounds about right.

And there are lots of other people I'm sure I've overlooked in the thanks and gratitude department. CB springs immeadiately to mind. Wow, there's no way we could be down here doing what we're doing (what exactly are we doing again?) without CB back home taking care of the paperwork and other crap. Here he is, in the cold and sleet, nursing his sick wife, doing all our banking and mail stuff while we are just cavorting on the beach like a couple of thoughtless kids - we are not worthy. Seriously, we must owe CB about a 256,777.009 favours in return for all that he has done for us over the years. Thanks buddy!!!

And there are more, many more but I'm supposed to be working on my novel like a real writer right now so I'm going to wrap this up with a general thank you to all our friends and family who have helped us out so much, in so many ways, over the years. If you haven't seen your name here, believe me, it is not because we have forgotten you but simply because the authour has a head full of junk that is constantly spilling out.

To everyone - I wish you a new year filled with joy and love. May you find the courage to do whatever it is you are afraid of, the patience to deal with life's challenges, and the compassion to give to those who need more than you do. Tonight we will raise a glass to all of you who stay in our hearts no matter where we travel.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

The Princess

The Worst Kind of Divorce

Wed, 20 Jul 2005 17:43:12 GMT

Hello again from the land of whales, Wallys and wetness!

Well, I had this huge rant all written out about life in Ukee - mostly about the frustrations of life in Ukee actually - and then...I went back to the city. Life in Ukee is not so bad really. I won't lie, the city has some good stuff that I miss. What's the best thing about the city? Movie theatres? Starbucks? My writer's group? My gym? Osamu's Sushi? Planet Organic Grocery Store? No. The best thing about the city is that a whole bunch of people that I really love live there. My friends. Tied with my husband for "Most Important Thing in my Life" and if it wasn't for them, I wouldn't bother going back to the city at all.

My visit was short (2 nights) but definitely sweet.

The Macs put me up for night one. Ron cooked up a yummylicious dinner on the spur of the moment. Prawns....mmmmmm. Deb and I just got cooked on Bombay Gin and Carolines. Hangover...mmmmmm. Night two was at the Roney's with refreshing cocktails and good conversation on the lanai. The conversation turned to the subject of friends and two friends, in particular, who have caused me some hurt feelings over the past year and most recently have expressed that they want nothing more to do with the Prez and me - I'll call them Mickey & Minnie to protect their identities.

The scoop: Mickey and Minnie have apparently had some real issues with the Prez and me for years. You'd never know it by the way they act around us, in fact you'd swear they were our very best friends in the world by their behaviour. About a year ago, under some unusual circumstances, a good friend finally told me all that had been said about the Prez and me over the years - it was bad. If you had listened very closely that day I'm certain you could have heard my heart breaking. Imagine finding out that someone you really love and speak highly of to everyone you know actually can't stand you to the point of not wanting you in their home. I suspect, if you are old enough, you don't have to imagine because everyone has been let down or betrayed by someone they loved at one point.

So what do you do? A younger me would have picked up the phone a long time ago and spewed all my hurt and outrage at them, but the older me knows what a waste of time that is and would never risk putting the friend who confided in me in a bad position. So what do you do?

With the opposite sex, at least you get closure. Words are spoken, posessions are divided up, tears are cried, documents are signed...you are divorced. How do you divorce a friend?

There are only about six people who even know about this little problem - even Mickey and Minnie don't know that I know. Weddings, parties, dinners - with divorced couples everyone knows and delicately decides which person to invite to which function. More often than not, friends are divided up in the divorce as well so the decision is easy. But I know we will see Mickey & Minnie around and just the thought puts my stomach into knots because I know that I will not be able to fake it.

The Prez and I have our quirks and faults, everyone does. As friends you accept that people aren't perfect, you accept that we are all different but we can still love each other. The Prez may step on a lot of toes at times, may not always say what he thinks tactfully and offend without meaning to - but he is honest and loyal beyond compare. Even knowing all that he does, he bears no ill will toward Mickey & Minnie but, instead, feels sorry for them, feels that they must be having some troubles in their life. Me? I feel humiliated and betrayed. If there were divorce papers for friends I would sign them today. Some days I wish I were more like my husband.

Ten years from now I won't be giving any of this a second thought. Twenty years from now I might say "Mickey and Minnie who?". Thirty years from now I'll look at their photo and remember only the good laughs we had once. Forty years from now - when I'm living with my 100 cats and making knitted hats - I might invite them over for biscuits and a martini.

But today...it hurts.

So what would you do?

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin' life!
The Princess